


adventurous domesticity

by gwenwrites



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, just a few thousand years too late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 06:10:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19267405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenwrites/pseuds/gwenwrites
Summary: Aziraphale decided it was high time he told Crowley how he felt, and that it was marvelous weather for a picnic.





	adventurous domesticity

Crowley’s eyes opened at the sound of a knock on his door. He really, truly thought that they’d be left alone for awhile. He sighed and fished for the sunglasses on his bedside table. He was surprised that any demon would bother to even knock on his door.

“Crowley, I’m ready for the picnic!”

He fell back onto his pillow with a relieved sigh. “Angel, what the heaven are you knocking for?”

Aziraphale opened the door slowly. “Everything’s ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“The picnic, Crowley,” he repeated it slower, as if that were any better, and he already had a picnic basket in his hand. A real one, with a red and white gingham cloth peeking out of it and everything.

“We just saved the world, Aziraphale. All of it, the whole blessed thing. Can’t we rest for a  _ single _ day?”

Aziraphale blinked. “You’ve been sleeping for two days, Crowley.”

A pause. “Have I really?”

“I had to take those glasses off of you, you know. You fell right asleep with them on. Get dressed, will you?”

“Alright, alright, five more minutes.”

“I’ll be back in two. I might’ve forgotten to pack the whole grain mustard…” He walked back down the hall. Crowley smiled after Aziraphale turned around, all teeth and satisfaction. He put on his nicest pair of slacks and his newest pair of snakeskin boots. Light filtered through his grey drapes, and he opened them with a flourish. Never had he felt more love for the Earth, all of its good and all of its evil. It was awful and outrageous and delightful, and it was safe. For awhile, at least. 

“It’s been two minutes, and- oh. Good.” Aziraphale said. He looked shocked that Crowley wasn’t still asleep, face smushed into the pillow. “Are you ready?”

///

Crowley offered to drive, but Aziraphale wanted to walk.

Crowley stared directly at the sun after they stepped out of the apartment building. “‘Think that they would’ve gotten rid of it, after it all ended? Replaced it, maybe? I’d bet that the demons would’ve thrown it in the bin.”

Aziraphale’s nose scrunched up. “Must we talk about this? We should enjoy it, Crowley. Enjoy our side.”

“Right, right,” Crowley agreed. “What have we got to eat?”

“That’s a surprise,” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley caught a glimpse of the mischievous light in his eyes. He held back his own smile.

“You haven’t had enough of surprises already?”

“Alright, I’ll give you a hint. I brought strawberries.”

“Do you know what a hint  _ is? _ ”

Aziraphale began to hum a cheery little tune from the sixteenth century as they walked shoulder to shoulder. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale took hold of Crowley’s hand and pulled him back from crossing the street. “I almost forgot, I’ve got to pop in to the bookstore for a moment.” When he let go of his hand and turned down the street, Crowley felt that instantaneous feeling of loss, the kind that comes only from losing contact. It’d been six millennia, and he still detested that feeling.

Crowley waited at the front of the store while Aziraphale rummaged around in the back, eyes focused on the picnic basket at his feet. He felt the urge to have a peek, but forced himself not to lean down.

“a surprise,” he muttered, and poked the basket with the toe of his boot. 

“I’ve got it! Had to dust them off a bit, but look!” Aziraphale walked out of the back room proudly holding two pairs of teacups and saucers.

“We came here to get  _ teacups _ ?”

“These  _ teacups _ are jingdezhen porcelain made in the seventeenth century. I think this is the first time I’ve used them in a hundred years.”

“Oh yeah, I think I remember those.”

“You do?”

“No! They’re teacups, angel. You’re the only person in this whole world who cares about teacups.”

“That’s not true. I’ve met many other connoisseurs over the centuries,” Aziraphale countered. “though I doubt that any collections are as varied and antique as mine.”

“You’ve really got the strangest hobbies.”

“One of your hobbies is being verbally abusive towards your plants. I saw them this morning, Crowley, they’re terrified.”

“Fair enough.”

///

“The weather is perfect for a picnic.”

Aziraphale was right. The sun was warm and dappled the grass through the trees, and a light breeze weaved through the bushes. The sound of city traffic even seemed far away as Aziraphale pulled the blanket from the picnic basket and unfolded it on the ground. Crowley laid down on his back and propped himself up on his elbows, but the angel stayed sitting up. He seemed serious about this whole picnic endeavor.

First, he pulled out the chinese teacups. Second, he took a thermos from the basket.

“Hold on,” Crowley said. “Is that the thermos you gave me holy water in?”

“It was just sitting on your desk, and you didn’t have any others. Really Crowley, I looked everywhere. Who doesn’t own a thermos nowadays-”

“Don’t you talk to me about nowadays when you refuse to get a cellphone.”

Aziraphale ignored the comment and continued to assemble the picnic. He diligently poured tea from the thermos into both cups. Crowley sat up to gingerly pick up the cup and take a careful sip. He imagined that their little picnic day might be ruined if he were to break the cup, even if it was miracled back together again.

 

“English breakfast with a hint of raspberry,” Aziraphale said, unprompted. The strawberries came out next, then the tea biscuits. Next, an entire  crudité platter, complete with “wild salmon hummus and a garlic aioli.” Six thousand years on planet Earth, and Crowley still wasn’t entirely sure that he knew what an aioli even was.

After that, he brought out the rest: tea sandwiches, lemon squares, a cheese platter, and a jar of lavender lemonade. 

“I brought a few more sweets as well, but I’ll get them out in a bit.” That was a wise choice, as the food he’d already arranged took up over half of the blanket. He turned over to lay on his stomach, and dragged the crudite platter towards them. Crowley picked up a carrot and dipped it in the salmon hummus. Aziraphale watched him as he popped it into his mouth, continuing to stare intently as he chewed and swallowed. Clearly, he was awaiting a response.

“I like it. It’s…” Crowley trailed off. “It’s got the taste of hummus, but with fish in it.”

“Oh, good!” Aziraphale brighted and bit down on a stick of celery. They ate in comfortable silence, and Crowley let his eyes follow Aziraphale’s hand as he kept eating. Each little nail was a dull pink, nearly skin-toned, but they shone like little candies in the noon sun.

“We could just go for a visit, you know,” Crowley said.

“Hm?”

“Alpha centauri. Could just pop-in for a bit, see what it’s like.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed. “Might we just settle down for awhile? I wouldn’t mind a bit of domesticity, for a change.”

“And what does ‘settling down’ entail for a demon and an angel?” Crowley asked. “Dunno about you, but I get bored quite quickly.”

“Well, I-” Aziraphale said. He put down the edamame bean he was about to eat. “-Crowley, I think it’s time I tell you something.”

“Oh?”

“I’d never felt as though I should say this, as it’s not proper for an angel to have such an attachment, and  _ certainly _ not to a demon.”

_ Oh,  _ Crowley realized. This was this conversation.  _ The _ conversation. Six thousand years of waiting, and Aziraphale still looked uneasy.

“But now, as we’ve been cast out of our former sides, I thought that it was time to finally be upfront and honest with you, Crowley, and find out what your feelings are regarding our… Arrangement.”

His metaphorical heart, the one that humans never stopped discussing, had already soared high above the tree they sat under, past the stars and past heaven and came to rest somewhere entirely incomprehensible to anyone aside from Crowley. A fall from heaven and six thousand years of eternal life had led him to sit on this blanket with the angel he’d loved since the garden of Eden.

“I’ve got no idea what your talking about,” he said. A cruel joke, he realized, too late- Aziraphale’s face had already fallen farther then Crowley did when God threw him out.

“Angel, I-” He searched for the right words. He’d had plenty of practice in being witty and knowing the right thing to say. He’d gotten awful good at it, too, from how much time he’d had to practice. But then, when he needed them most, the right words would not form.

He moved, instead, to hold one of the angel’s hands with both of his own. They were warm, delicate and soft. Crowley could feel the ghost of a callous on the tip of his thumb from turning the pages of tens of thousands of books. His nails were as smooth and prim as he’d imagined them, and suddenly he had the urge to bring his palm up to his mouth and kiss it.

Instead, he took one hand away from Aziraphale’s for a second to push his sunglasses up to rest on his head.

“When did your attachment to me form?”

“Oh, Crowley, I’m not sure. You can’t place a date on something like that.”

“Estimate.”

“Perhaps… five hundred years ago, I suppose. Maybe a little before then.”

“Angel,” He paused. “I’ve loved you since you told me that you gave Adam and Eve your sword.”

Aziraphale stared at him with both wonder and bewilderment. “No.”

“Oh yes! Six thousand years, and now, only after we’ve stopped the bloody apocalypse, do I get to say that.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, in that voice he saved for only the most pitiful of situations. 

“S’alright, really.” He shrugged. “Maybe in another three thousand years I might get to kiss you.”

He didn’t, thankfully, have to wait another sixty centuries, or even another sixty seconds, before the angel brought his lips to Crowley’s. “Domesticity” now sounded quite more adventurous to him now than any trip to the stars could be. 


End file.
